


Afterglow

by gaytoxe



Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing
Genre: M/M, NDRV3 Spoilers, postgame au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-21
Updated: 2020-01-21
Packaged: 2021-02-27 12:20:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,517
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22343230
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gaytoxe/pseuds/gaytoxe
Summary: “And Momota-chan told me to go to bed.”Momota almost flinches and whirls around to see Ouma standing there, voice accusatory as his gaze pierces right through him. He’s silent, words lodged in his throat.“Stargazing,” is what he finally settles on.“Momota-chan is always stargazing,” he says, stepping forward and standing beside him, head tilting upward to stare up at the same dark abyss Momota had begun losing himself in and drowned out the rest of the world.
Relationships: Momota Kaito/Oma Kokichi
Comments: 5
Kudos: 92





	Afterglow

**Author's Note:**

> go to bed momota...  
> follow @gaytoxe on tumblr for more of my works!

The stars are almost hard to see, but Momota refuses to let them disappear from his sight, even if visions of his death voyage to space spark in his mind every now and then. And despite the fact he knows half the stars are long gone, only their after-images remaining, he doesn’t want to let them go.

Dark purple adorn the skin beneath his eyes, focused on the dots of light painted across the night sky. The moon’s halo of light shines, and all Momota can really think about is the events that lead up to that moment; the path he followed to finally grasp freedom from those sickening walls of white and continue tightening his hold on it, fearful that if he softened for even a moment, it would be pried from his hands again.

It’s been a week since he and Ouma were released from Team Danganronpa’s clutches, finally able to stare at more than just cars and commute out the window and hear more than just the same nurse’s voice or all the commotion that comes with being in a hospital in the city surrounded by streets and cars at night.

He remembers the first night he was released being so exhilarating he could scream out anything that popped into his head and not care even a sliver. Yell and shout and run until his whole body was sore, until his lungs were burning, until he couldn’t move a single inch anymore. To taste something, anything, other than terrible hospital food hammered it into his gut that he wasn’t blocked in by the walls of the little room he loathed no matter how many times he stayed there.

He’s not a fictional character pieced together carefully to follow a narrative created to please an audience; he’s real. No one is watching him, and he’s not just a character to use for publicity or to take from until he’s empty and hollow so that Team Danganronpa can boast about how “good” their stupid 53rd season was. All he could feel was deceit when he constantly checked the channels on TV, wondering, waiting, to see if anything changed. And he despised it.

He despised how many people enjoyed watching their own suffering, unable to shut their damn mouths about how it should’ve gone or how much they loved the trials, and Momota is sure that the title he used to do proudly exclaim to everyone he met would die with the rest of the parts of him that had already croaked.

He isn’t sure he wants them to come back.

He didn’t expect to spend New Year’s Eve reminiscing on the one thing that threw his whole entire life out of its original orbit, a tiny part of himself loathing how terribly he’s still shaken by everything.

“And Momota-chan told me to go to bed.”

Momota almost flinches and whirls around to see Ouma standing there, voice accusatory as his gaze pierces right through him. He’s silent, words lodged in his throat.

“Stargazing,” is what he finally settles on.

“Momota-chan is always stargazing,” he says, stepping forward and standing beside him, head tilting upward to stare up at the same dark abyss Momota had begun losing himself in and drowned out the rest of the world.

Momota exhales heavily, allowing himself to drift again once his eyes settle on the sky, trying to distract himself with figuring out which stars were only projections of light, after years and years destined to fade out and disappear from the world forever. In some odd way, he finds himself comparing it to all the Ultimate Astronaut was. A title seemingly normal, just like all the others, only to realize it hadn’t ever been alive for an eternity’s worth while. Simply a projection of light, of an identity, and nothing more.

And yet, as much as he wants to believe it, he doesn’t want to get to know the feeling of being unknown to even himself. To not know what kind of star he is and which path he is set to follow, never even knowing what stage in his life he’s currently experiencing.

“I’m just—“ Momota swallows hard, leaning against the railing— “—thinking.”

“All Momota-chan does is think. He thinks and thinks and thinks, and then he keeps it all to himself, all too happy with everyone else forgetting about it and returning back to the norm of relying on him,” Ouma tells him, eyeing him from the side, not allowing him to squirm out of talking, and Momota knows he’s right.

He fumbles with his mind, his words, his entire being, everything he first concluded he knew about himself tossed into a pit of uncertainty as his eyes fall in and out of focus, searching for something to escape the eyes staring right at him, waiting to catch even a small glimpse of what he’s trying so hard to shield from not only him, but the rest of the world.

He didn’t mind letting Saihara and Harukawa forget about the mishaps and accidental flashes of weakness, in fact all too excited to let it slip through the seems and keep it hidden, acting as if nothing happened. “I’m fine” and “don’t worry about me” was enough for them, and it was enough for him.

But he knows Ouma is different, and he’s not planning to let him off the hook and let all the slivers of weakness and tiny lies sneak by without repercussions.

“I don’t—“ Momota swallows, hard— “—I don’t know who the hell I am anymore. I thought— I thought leaving the hospital would help, but it’s left me as fucking lost as when I was there. And I can’t stop thinking about what I’m supposed to do from here, what I’m supposed to think about all of this shit.”

It was easier to revert back to the Ultimate Astronaut, the title he always had and thought he’d known, but at the same time, he’s not sure he wants all the things that come with it. All the guilt, the weight, the constant need to climb the ever growing pillars that never stop getting taller and taller, the stress of his grandparents needing him to be the perfect boy that travelled to space one day and made them proud.

“I— and I fucking killed you, Ouma,” he chokes out, hands shaking, remorse twisting his stomach. “Even if we’ve said sorry and shit, I can’t stop thinking about it. It sticks in my brain and never leaves. I—“ he tries to spit it out— “—have nightmares about it.” His last words come out quiet and fragile, never spoken to anyone but himself in his mind, only ever kept locked up and sealed away because no one ever asked and he never told them, not used to being so terribly open he feels like cringing from his words; it leaves a sour taste in his mouth, leaving him wishing he’d never said anything at all.

“Momota-chan is so impatient,” Ouma tells him, turning towards him and approaching him. “He thinks he has to figure these big decisions out by himself in seconds, refusing help from anyone, but it only sends him in circles, ending up back at square one.”

Momota is silent, eyes averting to stare at anything but Ouma’s face, even though he knows what he’s saying is right, but when he does meet those lilac irises, they’ve been waiting for him to look ever since they laid eyes on him. They look like stained glass, shining as they stare at him.

“I— I know.” Momota resists the urge to look away, to try and deflect, even if it bubbles in his throat the wrong way and feels so unknown he doesn’t know what to do.

Ouma continues stepping towards him until his frail arms wrap around him, pulling him into an embrace that Momota didn’t realize he needed until his arms were around him.

“The nightmares,” Ouma mumbles, gently gripping the back of Momota’s shirt with a knowing tone laced into his voice that gently presents itself. “We’ll figure out. Together.”

Momota’s arms, almost out of instinct, hug Ouma closer, eyes glassy. “Yeah,” he chokes out, tears pricking the lids of his eyes, fingers gently stroking his hair. “We’ll— we’ll figure it out. Together.”

The tears that roll down his cheeks turn icy from the air, almost as if they could freeze in place as soon as they escaped his eyes, but Ouma gazes up at him and cups his cheek, gently wiping them away with his thumb.

Momota’s grandparents always told him he was meant to be a star, meant to go to space and become the brightest star in the sky they always knew he could be.

Looking at Ouma’s eyes, how they shine in the moonlight, caring and lovingness embedded in his irises, with soft hands clutching on to him and refusing to let go, he isn’t sure he’s the brightest star out there in the vastness of the universe, among the millions and millions of balls of light glimmering in the night.


End file.
